I almost always find something unexpected on my early morning beachside bike rides. Often those finds include interesting wildlife, plants or washed ashore items. But recently, over a two-day period, my beachcombing finds involved Gainesville artist Peter J. Carolin participating in the 7th annual New Smyrna Beach Paint Out.
Artist blending colors with gloved hands
Much to my delight and fascination, Peter set up his extensive outdoor studio in front of SeaWoods, a stretch of beach midway between my usual starting and finishing points.
Quite a lot of gear to tote to and from the beach
On both mornings, I paused in my morning ride to say hello and ask if I could take pictures, which Peter graciously permitted.
Peter didn't seem to mind all my questions and picture taking
I'm glad he did, because not only did I enjoy watching him work, but found myself especially intrigued by his cleverly constructed work station made from repurposed items like old ironing boards, aluminum crutches and clothes hangers. Ingenious use of castaway stuff!
Arranging his ironing board table in front of swiveling paint shelves made from crutches, clothes hangers, old glass medicine shelves and 2x4s
Below is a short YouTube video of artist Peter J. Carolin from photos taking during early morning beachside bike rides on October 11 and 12, 2017
Ralph and I arrived at New Smyrna Beach yesterday afternoon and I couldn't wait for morning to get back on my bike, ride down to the ocean and watch the sunrise.
This is the view that greeted me as I biked onto the hard-packed, rain-soaked sand this morning shortly before sunrise, just after high tide. Dark, heavy clouds hung low over the water but in the distance, a strip of brightness lit up the horizon like a brazen flare.
Heavy, dark clouds, and yet there was light...
As I biked south, streaks of pink light streamed across the still-dark sky.
Looking southward instead of east, I inhaled morning calmness along with the view. Few people were out and a slight breeze kept the sand fleas away as long as I kept moving.
More pink light filtering through the cloud cover hinting of illumination soon to come. While I usually focus on the ocean view or north-south vistas as I bike along, this morning I paid attention to the westerly sky where random clouds received a dash of color.
A spot of light in the western sky
When I reached the stairway at Watts, I stopped to juggle but once I stopped moving, the sand fleas or no-see-ums zeroed in on my body, forcing me to cut short my morning stretches and juggling practice and run down into the ocean to take a quick dip in the warm and soothing brine.
Before heading back to my sleepy husband, I paused to write a few messages in the sand.
We all have a choice...
My sunrise beachside bike ride always gives me hope...
Before arriving back at 27th Avenue, I stopped to take a video of two cormorants in the shallow water. Cormorants are not birds I normally associate with the beach. I see snowy egrets (like the one in the video) all the time as well as willets, pelicans, plovers, gulls, terns and great blue herons. But this morning was the first time I noticed a pair of cormorants - birds I normally see at our Groveland lake - in the ocean. As I watched them in the water, I couldn't help but wonder if they were frolicking or feeding. Most likely, the latter, but maybe (I like to think maybe) just a bit of both?
By the time I left the cormorants, the sky was much brighter than it had been when I started out. I was now almost back to where I began with just a couple more images to capture before leaving.
Looking north toward 27th Ave Beach
Despite it being a Saturday morning on Labor Day weekend with dense cloud cover starting to give way to speckled light, few people were out on the sand. That won't be the case in a couple hours when this same stretch of beach will be blanketed with beach-goers on holiday.
A lone seagull perched upon a pier
Gulls may be noisy, greedy, unpopular birds but I never tire of seeing them, especially when they stand on a pier surveying a domain that's as much (maybe more...) theirs than ours.
Watching that gull on a still-quiet morning on what soon will be an extremely busy beach day, reminded me that the world belongs to us all - the large and the small, the winged, wingless, clawed, scaled, finned, furred and feathered.
It's ours to protect, not to neglect. It's ours to preserve, not to destroy. It's ours and, hopefully, it's their world too, for as long as we share and take care for its many wonders.
This week at the beach has been the perfect mix of productivity and playfulness. In addition to getting much weeding, clearing and planting done at our property, meeting with workmen and dealing with design changes, Ralph and I managed to get ourselves up and on our bikes everyday but one and this morning, when Ralph needed a little extra sleep-in time so I went out alone.
I don't mind solo rides. As much as I enjoy our rides together, there's a special pleasure in being on my own. This morning, instead of biking along the beach from 27th Ave. to Hiles as we usually do, I took Saxon south. It was early. No cars at all. It only took about 10 minutes to bike to the beach. By then, the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon but low-lying clouds blocked it from view. I decided to take a right and bike south. It was dead low tide. Perfect for beachside cycling.
Sun hidden behind clouds
There was little wind to keep sand fleas away. They didn't bother me when I was moving but when I stopped to take pictures the tiny bugs became annoying.
Too many sand fleas hovering about to stay still for long
A quick dip in the surf solved the sand flea problem. Not only was the water delicious but by the time I came out, the sun had risen above the cloud cover.
My post-swim attempt at a selfie with the sun
The rising sun wasn't all I saw as I biked north along the shoreline. Part way back to 27th Ave., I came upon a cool crab.
Smaller, redder and with a more rounded shell than a ghost crab
Hard to be crabby on such a sunshiny morn
My knowledge of crustaceans is limited but expanding. The more time we spend at NSB, the more fun I have learning about unfamiliar critters and plants, including many different kinds of crabs. The one I saw this morning didn't look at all like the ghost crabs I usually see on the beach.
Ghost crab looking...crabby
A little farther along, I stopped for a second swim then pedalled until I came upon a fellow who had just caught a fish. He seemed so proud of his catch even though the fish was quite tiny indeed.
Proud fisherman
A few minutes before arriving at 27th Ave., the shell of a small horseshoe crab caught my eye so I picked it up and took a couple shots before returning it to the waves.
Even an abandoned horseshoe crab is fascinating
Below is a video I made late last summer when Ralph and I watched a much large, LIVE horseshoe crab make its way back to the ocean through the shallow water.
Today's adventure was different than usual in that I was biking alone, but it was the same as always by being so rich in discoveries. No matter what weather, time of day, season or tide, when I'm at the beach something - usually many somethings - catches my eye. Being at the beach in the early morning is a great way to start the day!
Yesterday's early morning skyshow My antidote to the daily news
I thought I'd be warm enough Thursday morning when I biked to the beach, but I really wasn't. A cold wind was blowing off the ocean. Masses of foam and reddish-brown sargassum seaweed had washed ashore. It was high tide just before sunrise. Really high tide. Too high on the beach for any bike riding. Too cold. Too windy. And, the sun that would soon be rising, was hidden behind a tall, dense band of dark gray clouds.
I was a little disappointed.
Many clouds. No sun but we could see the moon!
Ralph was by my side. On previous mornings, he'd been too sleepy to join me on sunrise bike rides but this time we were both up and read to go together. However, since it was cold, windy and cloudy, I assumed he'd prefer to be back in bed snuggling instead of remaining at the beach in the hope of catching the sunrise. So I said, "Let's go back home."
But my husband surprised me.
"Since we can't ride on the beach," he said, "let's go down those back roads you're always telling me about."
So that's what we did. Together on our separate and very different types of bikes - Ralph's ElliptiGo, my FunCycle - we meandered south from 27th Ave toward Hiles.
Ralph on his ElliptiGo on a morning when
the tide wasn't as high as it was today
Me on my Fun Cycle zipping across the hard sand at low tide
It was a lovely ride through older neighborhoods. So many different landscape styles, types of fences and interesting home designs to look at and learn from.
A creative as well as welcoming entryway
When we arrived at Hiles Blvd., it was only a little after sunrise so we decided to head over to the beach to see if the sun had broken through the clouds yet.
I'm glad we did because just as we rounded the corner, rays of light streamed through a small break in the clouds.
Rays of light break through the clouds
We stayed at the beach for quite a while, enjoying the view and chatting with a couple of other early risers who were also savoring the moment despite the windy chill and cloudy sky.
Thursday's early morning bike ride to see the sunrise turned out to be quite different than expected. I expected to ride on the sand but due to the high tide, we wound up riding on pavement instead. I expected my husband to want to return home right away when we realized we hadn't dressed warmly enough for the weather. Instead, he was happy to continue on and do a little exploring, which is usually my billiwhack. Because of all the clouds, I didn't expect to see the sunrise, yet streams of light broke through just as we approached the Hiles beach ramp.
One lesson I learned from Thursday's experience is an old one: Expect the unexpected.
Another is that even after 47 years of living with someone, surprises, like rays of sunlight, can break through assumptions.
My earlier disappointment vanished with the sunrise, turning instead to waves of delight.
It was practically perfect at the beach this morning. Sun rising over an unruffled ocean. Gentle breeze. Calm waves. Smooth sand firm enough for bike riding. Not many birds. Fewer people. Most people waved or nodded as we passed one another.
As usual, I took many photos but found myself playing around with one shot in particular. Below are three interpretations of the same image (#4). I'd love to know what you think of each effort.
Woke up early and biked to the beach with a few minutes to spare before the 6:53 a.m. sunrise. The tide was high with sand too soft for pedaling, so I stayed on the pavement to watch the morning arrive.
Waves crashed against the shore as pelicans, terns and gulls flew by and landed on the sand. A few other early risers - one surfer, one paddleboarder, several walkers and a couple other photographers - were there as well. Each of us in our own unique way was saying hello to a new day.
I hadn't had a chance to go for a pre-sunrise morning row for several days but this morning I got up in time, the lake was calm and it wasn't too chilly so...
The sky just before I pushed my boat into the water
By the time I rowed down to the south end of the lake the sky had become a little brighter
Rowing back from 'Little Bare' into 'Big Bare Lake' with our house and the mulberry orchard to the west
By the time I reached the north end of the lake the sun was beginning to shine on the trees on the west side of the lake
I stopped for a few minutes to look back at our house nestled among bamboos and trees
Watching the sun peek over the pines along eastern shoreline from my 'secret spot' along the northern shore
Another shot of the eastern shoreline
It is so much brighter on the western shoreline as the sun rises higher from the east
A slideshow of all the images taken during my morning row
Although I never know exactly what to expect when I head out for a row, I always know I’ll encounter something special. On some mornings, I’m struck by a beautiful sunrise, a colorful cloud show or the rising mist over calm water.
Calm water and serene sky shows await me in the early dawn hours
Other times, the sound of birdsongs fills me with joy. The plaintive call of an Eastern phoebe, the chattery voices of bluebirds or the crass caws of crows sounding the alarm to other birds that a human has invaded their space.
I think of crows as guard dogs of the avian world, letting me know with their loud cawing when potential threats are present
As I methodically stroke through clear water, I might catch a glimpse of a soft-shelled turtle swimming by or fish guarding its round sandy nest on the lake bottom. Once I looked over the edge of my boat and saw a young alligator, a surprising find in a lake in which gators are seldom seen.
Alligators lose their striped bodies as they mature
Seeing unexpected wildlife is one of the things I like best about being in my boat in those in-between hours when it’s not quite light yet but neither is it still dark.
A bobcat sitting by the lake lets me know he's had enough of being watched and photographed
Some of my most memorable moments during those early morning rows include chancing upon a pair of great horned owls perched in a pine tree near the shoreline, a coyote strutting across a field before disappearing back into the woods and a bobcat sitting calmly by the water’s edge as if it too was enjoying the morning view.
From my rowboat, I’ve seen feral hogs nesting in muddy wallows, and bright colored cardinals trying to divert my attention from their own nests in bushy plants.
I’ve sighted many belted kingfishers, osprey and the occasional bald eagle.
I’ve observed sandhill cranes, common yellowthroats and palm warblers. Every now and then I notice a raccoon but more often I see their footprints in the soft sand where my boat is launched.
Footprints in the sand by my boat
A few days ago, I was taking yet another early morning row through the still water when I chanced upon a great blue heron, the largest heron in North America, with a six-foot wingspan. The heron was hunting in the shallow reed-filled water along the southern shoreline. It was very misty that morning and, although herons frequently visit our lake, I hadn’t seen one for several months and was not particularly anticipating its presence. The long-legged, grayish-blue-feathered bird probably wasn’t anticipating my presence either. I think we both surprised each other when my boat skimmed along through the mist only a few yards away from where it was hunting.
Hello welcome friend!
Fortunately, the heron stood its ground and I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t startle the bird any more than I already had. I’ve learned over time not to look directly at wildlife. Furtive glances are fine but blatant staring seems to incite nervousness in most wild animals that often leads to lost opportunities of prolonged observation.
With that in mind, I moved slowly, picked up my camera and began taking pictures. With my boat no longer in motion and my eyes looking into the camera instead of staring directly at the bird, the heron overcame its anxiety and continued its steady patrol through the shallow water in search of prey.
With its long, sharp beak and strong mandibles, a great blue heron is an adept hunter that prey upon frogs, snakes, fish, lizards, moles and small birds. Adaptable to both freshwater and saltwater habitats, it often hunts alone although it tends to gather with others to roost in the evenings.
"My, what a long beak you have" "The better to catch me some fish!"
Although I didn’t see the heron catch anything during that morning, I have observed such moments in the past.
Great blue heron meets snake Heron wins
This time, however, simply seeing an unexpected bird during my morning row was satisfaction enough. Small person in boat meets large bird in water. A fine way to begin yet another amazing day.
